Call Me Rusty
by Redonkadonk
Summary: A little backstory on Rusty before the show's events.


_Author's Notes: Second fic I've ever written. If it's not entirely obvious to most that know me regarding this musical, Rusty's generally my favorite character. I have mighty feels for Rusty like I have favorite character feels for Evan Ross from Goosebumps despite him going back and forth on the "little shit scale" pretty often, and he's kinda that character that several people can identify with. Bullied by bigger people, no one thinks he can do anything, stuck having to deal with some kind of condition that hampers him when working, likes a girl that ends up kinda breaking his heart, but through it all he still tries to do his best. Total underdog material._

_That being said, the show never went into depth about Rusty being rusted. Original London described him as having "slow corrosion" that is "eroding (his) frame", that he's a "dead-end engine falling to bits", basically, so his rust had to be at an extensive level to be at that point. Or he's just being overdramatic. No one knows. I'm also not specifically basing Rusty's appearance on one actor, but I will say that I pictured Rusty in this fic as being mostly of the Broadway design, as it has/had (depending on production) red/orange detailing._

* * *

He wasn't always like this. Or at least, he didn't always live up to what his name usually described. But he didn't really mind it most of the time, only when it interfered with work. Then again, Rusty couldn't help it.

He had initially been named for the hints of red-orange that were dispersed through his hair and the detailing when he was first made, but as he grew older and matured, it grew to be more fitting than most names of its kind are. It was shortly after he started training, as all young engines do, that he first noticed a small red patch on the back of his knee. He figured it was just a dirty spot after the day's run, that a simple good scrubbing during cleaning would get rid of it.

It came back not too long afterwards, as more patches developed.

"Don't worry about it, boy," Poppa told him. Poppa was his mentor, a fellow steam train like him. It's just in how he was made; that kind of metal was more prone to rust than other metals. "Just make sure to dry off well after rainy days." And he did. He made extra sure to dry off after every time he spent out in the rain and took care not to let his wheels and joints get affected. But more patches continued to show up, eventually getting to the point where it was more 50-50 in the ratio of rust buildup to no rust buildup.

It was at this point that Rusty had become somewhat self-conscious; with the engines inching ever closer to young adulthood, so came the beginnings of certain kinds of attraction between two railway vehicles. He remembered the day it first hit him hard; it was time for the championship race among older engines. The younger vehicles were excited that the race would be held at their trainyard, and were easily dreaming about the day they would get to race with the "big kids". He'd seen the younger coaches all talking amongst themselves about who they'd race with, and had considered rolling up to them and asking if one of them would race with him when they reached that age, until one of them mentioned him.

"What about Rusty? You think he'd be able to race by that time?"

"Him? You're kiddin' right? By that time he won't be in good condition to race, let alone work at all!"

By the time the girls had noticed him standing there, Rusty had already started to understand the meaning of what they meant. The girls dispersed except for three coaches that Rusty had known since he started training; a buffet car, Buffy, a smoking car, Ashley, and a dining car, Dinah. They knew Rusty was a bit sensitive, having seen a diesel engine and his friends increasingly picking on him in the past few months, so they tried to ease whatever effect the conversation had had on him.

"Don' worry too hard on it, Rusty," Dinah said, rolling over and placing her hand on his shoulder. "It's just a silly ol' race… it's no big deal!"

Rusty only sighed and sat down on the ground. "But it is a big deal.. The race is one of the biggest things to come to the trainyard. Everyone wants to be in it, everyone wants to win it, and-"

"And what?" Ashley asked, shaking her head. "No one's going to care if you can't race because of all the rust! It ain't like racing's a requirement for engines anyway.."

"But what about other coaches? Wouldn't you all like to be with someone that can race and would win?"

"Wouldn't anyone? Most girls love an engine that can win-" Buffy started before getting a quick glare from the other girls before changing her tone. "W-well, it'd be nice, but it really doesn't matter. Who needs a winner anyway, r-right?"

Dinah shook her head before turning back to Rusty. "Rusty, someone will come along that will like ya for who you are, rather than whether ya can race or not. I know they will!"

Rusty nodded his head in understanding, but deep down he knew that there was a slim chance of that being true. He knew that girls went for bigger, stronger guys that could win the race with little to no trouble. Guys like Greaseball, the diesel that had been picking on him. He knew girls would go for someone like him, and was proven right a short time later when it became clear that Dinah and Greaseball were going out and would be racing together once they reached racing age, a fact many coaches cried about as they whined that they would never find someone as great as him. Even Buffy and Ashley were disappointed that they couldn't get Greaseball, but were there to congratulate Dinah as she was practically glowing with joy at finding her "dream train".

So when Rusty was old enough to start working, he swore he'd start practicing whenever he wasn't busy on a run, even if he didn't have a coach to practice with. That had been his plan at least, until he was told he would stay at the freight yard as a switch engine to help with getting cars about for runs and whatnot. Because of the rust issue - the same one he was told not to worry about-, the head of the trainyard, Control, didn't want to have Rusty end up needing repairs when on a long-distance run and risk losing cargo or passengers in a possible accident.

He was hurt. The rust issue wasn't that bad… was it? He wasn't that weak… was he?

Even as he did his job during the day and hung around the freight trucks in the evening, he couldn't shake the fact that everyone increasingly thought he wasn't able to do good in the races… Well nearly everyone; he had managed to befriend an aggregate hopper named Dustin and a brake truck known as Caboose, and the both of them thought that with enough practice, he definitely could make it in a race and win. Poppa also maintained his opinion that Rusty was just as good as anyone else was, even when Greaseball and the diesel switchers would taunt and bully him before the day's work began. Poppa also began to remind him of the stories he would tell him when he was younger; those of the Starlight Express, the mystical train in the sky that would answer your problems if you asked.

Rusty honestly didn't know whether to keep believing or not, but he had to at least try. He kept practicing. He took care of his wheels and joints to keep the rust off them. And he kept dreaming. Dreaming that someday he would find a coach that loves him for who he is, that he would race against the others despite what they say, and that he would win no matter what.

Rusty didn't always think of his name as being a bad thing, but he wasn't going to let it become something that would drag him down.


End file.
